The Lamentable Demise of George
by Maddy Carr
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance
1. Default Chapter

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 1

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 1

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. General season 2 stuff 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me as I have no money.

Feedback will be taken in, fed and loved to excess

I am not a sentimental man. I don't pine for lost loves, or lost … anythings; spring days and fall foliage leave me cold, I never remember anniversaries by buying gifts (unless they are work related and therefore likely to received in a similarly unsentimental manner _viz_ by Donatella Moss) and if anyone ever finds me mooning over a sunset, I want them to shoot me….

OK, bad example. Deep breath Joshua.

I repeat, I am not a sentimental man, but like any (relatively) normal person, I am subject to … whims. Whims, which may, to the casual observer, appear on the surface (the very shallow surface) to be acts of sentiment. Which they are not.

George was a whim. 

Actually, George is a chinchilla, but he started as a whim.

And why, I hear you ask did Joshua Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff have a whim which turned into a small furry rodent?

That my friends is a long story. So I'll distil it a bit. In a nutshell, when I was recuperating from a gunshot wound to the chest, I spent 3 very long, painful and boring months confined to my apartment. This woeful state of affairs was only mitigated by the presence of my assistant Donatella Moss who bullied me into eating, resting and doing my physiotherapy, bullied the rest of the White House Senior Staff into following her unnecessarily stringent, one might say even Machiavellian "Rules" and not least, bullied her way onto my couch at night and into my heart forever.

OK, did that sound a little sentimental? Well, it's not; it's the plain unvarnished truth. I love Donatella Moss. Am I _in_ love with her? That's a question for another day, a day when I'm well again, when I can offer her more than a man who's selfish, self-obsessed with his own misery and who still shakes when he hears sirens.

OK, I'm so not going to go there now.

__

Back against the wall. Breathe

So.

When I returned to work, and Donna moved out of my apartment, her second job as Florence Nightingale over, I was lonely. I couldn't sleep. By Christmas, I was angry, scared and lonely. So much so, that I couldn't see beyond myself. Florence stepped in again, and Leo sent Stanley to save me.

I got shot, but I recovered, I have PTSD, but I'm learning to cope. I'm beginning to learn that life is not just the big things, it's the daily struggles, the small kindnesses, the simple pleasures.

Which brings me to George.

George was Stanley's idea. I don't mean that Stanley actually said,

"Josh, you have PTSD, get a chinchilla",

But he did say that perhaps a pet of some sort would give me something to think about, and to take responsibility for instead of brooding on my own problems. Actually, I thought that he was joking and ignored him completely when he said that. I wasn't that keen on animals. Cats were OK, but rather too prone to random acts of unprovoked violence. I quite liked dogs, but frankly, who the hell has time to walk a dog? In Washington DC?

So it was in this completely chinchilla-free state of mind that I found myself strolling past a pet shop a couple of blocks down from Dupont Circle. (The walking was Donna's idea. She says that therapy makes me restless and cranky and she makes me walk it off so I don't ruin her afternoon).

It was there that I saw George. He didn't know he was George then of course, in fact given the size of a chinchilla's brain, he'll probably _never_ know that he's George, but this small, abject, cowering thing, a proto-George if you will, became actual-George five minutes later when I stepped into the shop and bought him.

What can I say? It was a whim.

I looked into George's eyes, he looked into mine. There was a connection. Really. We were simpatico. Two Guys against the world. We made a pact - I'd look after him and he'd… well, he'd give me something _else_ to think about.

That's how I acquired a chinchilla.

*********************************************************

"DONATELLA!"

I look up from my screen to see Ginger roll her eyes at me as she passes my desk. I'm very aware that the assistants in the West Wing believe that I have the worst and most difficult job - keeping Josh Lyman in line.

They couldn't be more wrong.

"WHAT?" I yell back. He likes it when I yell, it appeals to his competitive spirit or something. He tries to out-decibel me.

"USGS"

Not bad. I think even Cathy-the-mild may have winced. That's enough for today though, I don't want him straining his lungs. I get up and peer round the door into his office. He's lifting papers from the surface of the black hole that is his desk and stirring them around in a chaotic fashion. His hair is standing on end, but this is actually a good sign, it usually means that he's on a roll…

"Vermont or Florida" I say quietly.

Geared up for another ear-bursting yell, this quiet tone actually makes him jump. He gets all wide-eyed when he's distracted - it's actually kind of cute.

He glowers at me

"Florida. And why are you lurking Donna?"

"I'm not lurking, I'm in a state of alert readiness for my next task"

He gazes at me incredulously,

"People who hover behind doors are lurkers. YOU are a lurker."

I sidle up to his desk.

"And now you're creeping"

"I'm not creeping, I'm discretely entering your presence. And I don't think 'lurkers' is a real word."

"Is too" says Mr 760 verbal.

I allow myself a tiny little smirk. Hey, he doesn't have the patent on them.

"Zing! - Great comeback Josh, I'm deflated and abashed."

He rolls his eyes at me, but I can see a hint of amusement in their brown depths, so I give myself a mental pat on the back. Now if I can get him to smile today…

Defeated by my wit, his eyes fall back to his disaster-area desk,

"USGS Florida, Donna, the Everglades thing, I have a meeting in half an hour…"

I make a mental note to ask his Mother to buy him a watch for his birthday.

"Twenty minutes. And by 'thing' I assume you mean reclamation zoning. I have index cards."

He gazes at me suspiciously.

"How many?"

I smirk; he looks alarmed, so I relent.

"3"

The relief is overdone, but he's got some leeway at the moment. After the strain of the last couple of months, you couldn't expect even a Joshua Lyman to bounce straight back into the old banter-rhythm thing.

"Okay"

Hmmm, see what I mean?

Actually, the last couple of weeks have been better. He still works criminally long hours, but he hasn't slept on the office couch for quite a while. He's also less edgy. Not that anyone else would notice - I mean he still gets mad, shouts and stomps around, spreading misery like a crop-sprayer, but this is pretty close to normal for Mr Deputy Chief of Staff. When I think…

No, I'm putting that behind me now.

It's fine, he's fine, we're fine.

The phone on his desk rings and I reach for it, just as a pile of precariously and probably nationally-important papers slide onto the carpet. With a small cry of alarm, Josh follows them. As I pick up the receiver, there is a rustling sound, a small thud and a muffled "Ow" from floor-level.

"Joshua Lyman's office"

Ha! At least some of us around here have dignity.

It's a Dr Anderson on the line. Now this is weird. I know all of Josh's doctors - probably better than he does. In fact, we were on first name terms at one time. Who the hell is Dr. Anderson?

"Hold the line please"

"Josh?"

He drags himself to his feet, his face slightly flushed from bending over.

"Dr. Anderson is on the phone. He says he's returning your call." 

I can't help the slight interrogative tone of my voice. Perhaps I'm being paranoid, but my Josh-radar has started beeping.

He looks blank for a moment, then a look that can only be described as - _furtive_ creeps over his face. It's unmistakable; I'm watching him carefully. Is that a hint of embarrassment there too?

He practically snatches the phone from my hand. Then he looks at me a moment, as if unsure what to say.

"Um… Donna?"

"Yes?"

"USGS?"

That was a dismissal if ever I heard one. I walk reluctantly back to the bullpen and turn at the last minute to see him with his back to the door, practically whispering into the phone.

Beep, beep, beep

TBC

Do we get to meet George? What about his lamentable demise? Who is the mysterious Dr Anderson? The answers to these questions and more in the next exciting instalment

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	2. The Lamentable Demise of George 2

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 2

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 2

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Josh POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. General season 2 stuff 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback will be taken in, fed and loved to excess

Today has been not a good day. Frankly I've had worse days - much worse; I can think of at least 4 or 5 off the top of my head which had automatic entry into the Lyman Annals of Horror, but still…. Today has been incredibly _wearing_. And tiring. And weirdly upsetting. All in all, not good…

The day in question started bizarrely when I was woken up by the sound of George flinging himself against the bars of his cage. I am very new to pet ownership, but this seemed like a strange thing for a chinchilla to be doing. And he has a big cage; it's not like he'd been forced to scuttle around in a 1-foot square prison. His big brown eyes looked sort of frantic and trapped. He seemed to be silently screaming "Help me, help me". God knows what weird kick his furry little brain was on, but I don't mind admitting that it was rather unsettling - not least because I kind of knew how he felt.

When you start the day identifying with a rodent, things aren't going to get much better.

Anyway, I've been paying my neighbour's son (Robbie?, Rabbie? - something..) to let himself into my apartment when he finishes school to feed George, so I figured that I could give him a call later and see if my pet was still acting crazy. When I got to the office around 7.30 I was having an attack of the guilts. What the hell did I know about chinchillas? Perhaps I'd been doing something really wrong and he was being slowly poisoned or something, so I scrambled around the yellow pages for a few minutes trying to find the number of a vet. 

Did you know that there are 27 veterinary surgeries in downtown DC? I had no idea there were so many pets requiring surgery. I mean, there is obviously some kind of pet-orientated sub-culture going on out there that I know nothing about. I mean, is it something I _should_ know about?

The vet I picked was out on call so I left a message for him to call me back. I could have tried another, but to be honest, I'd started to feel a little embarrassed about spending valuable government time worrying about a chinchilla. God knows what my esteemed colleges would think; I actually shuddered at the thought of Sam or Toby ribbing me about this. I'd never hear the end of it.

No, I hadn't told anyone at the White House about George. What, do you think I'm crazy or something? My mental stability is in question as it is.

I had considered telling Donna, but I wasn't entirely sure what her reaction would be. She could likely go down the "Aww, that's really sweet, Josh" road, and her eyes would get all soft and mushy. That was tempting, but, hey, this was Donna. She could just as likely find it hilarious, rush off and tell everyone about it, and I'd have to put up with all the assistants sniggering at me as I passed. 

Come to think of it, she would probably do both. 

No. George was strictly on the QT. Need to know basis only. And as far as I was concerned - _nobody_ needed to know.

As it happened, all thoughts of George were put out of my head for the rest of the morning as I was hard pressed trying to convince some dunderheaded Republican congressmen that supporting a bunch of fat cat sheet wearing Corporate bigwigs who wanted to reclaim part of the Everglades was a really bad idea.

Naturally I succeeded. I am so da man.

I didn't get to enjoy my success for long though. My phone rang.

"Josh"

"Yes, oh great and wise assistant?"

"You're from Connecticut Josh, not Kansas"

Then her voice took on that soft inflection that normally turns me into a stuttering marshmallow.

"Stanley's on the line"

Ah. Not in this case apparently.

"Um… Okay, put him through"

Sydney was phoning to ask if I'd decided to address an ATVA group he was hosting next week. Sydney's a good therapist - he's helped me and I owe him, but I'd balked at the idea of baring my soul to a group of gunshot victims when he asked me a few days ago, and I was still balking now. I'm not afraid of public speaking (some might say I thrive on it), but talking about surviving an almost fatal injury and getting on with your life is really quite different. I'd rather just - well, get on with my life.

I was going to say all this to Stanley (in fact I'd practised saying it to George last night), but once Stanley had done his spiel about how other survivors would be helped by my experiences and how it would help me to get support from people with similar problems, I found myself weakly agreeing. 

Damn, must have worn out my persuasive powers on Republicans.

It wasn't until I'd put the phone down that I realised that I probably should have run this past Leo, maybe even CJ before agreeing. I'm sure it would be a private meeting, but security probably wouldn't be very tight, and it frankly wouldn't be good if a prominent member of the Bartlet administration was seen going to group therapy. Still - was it actually any of their business? and more importantly, was it any of the American public's business?

__

We do not comment on the personal lives of the White House staff

Why give CJ more material not to comment on?

TBC

Have you guessed who Dr Anderson is yet? When, oh when is George going to kick the bucket? Will I ever get to the point?

Find out in the next instalment.

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	3. The Lamentable Demise of George 3

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 3

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 3

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Josh POV continued  
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. General season 2 stuff 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback will be taken in, fed and loved to excess

My day just continued to get better and better. Having agreed to do Stanley's thing, I thought I may as well get into it a bit, so when I had come back from a meeting on the Hill unexpectedly early, I decided to do a spot of research on the Internet. How Donna manages to pull so much information off this thing, I will never know; I certainly wasn't going to ask her. A guy can only take so much of his beautiful blonde assistant mother-henning him. Having grappled with the 'browser' (who the hell names these things?) for half an hour, I very gladly gave up and went back to running the country. All I'd managed to unearth were a bunch of technical medical sites, which were making me, feel faint, I was aiming more for bland platitudes when I addressed the ATVA guys.

An hour of relative peace, work, a bit of half-hearted banter with Donnatella, then the vet guy, Anderson, called me back. My apologies _DR_ Anderson. (I can't believe we let these people call themselves doctors. I may just as well call my car mechanic a doctor.) He was a dork.

Once Donna had 'creeped' out of my office (and I could tell she was seething with curiosity), I told the dork all about George's strange behaviour. Once he'd stopped laughing, he proceeded to inform me in a frankly offensive tone of voice that George was obviously bored out of his tiny mind and I ought to buy him some toys to play with.

Excuse me?

Toys?

I say again. We let these people call themselves doctors?

Still…

I walked over to my door and yanked it open to lean outside.

"Donna, your…"

And the woman herself fell into my office. She had an apple in her hand.

If I didn't know her better, I would suspect her of pulling a Margaret and listening at my door. Donna has a lot of very irritating habits, but listening at doors is not one of them, (Generally. Sometimes I tell her to.) So this was pretty uncharacteristic behaviour.

She must be _really_ curious.

"Were you listening at my door?"

"Who's Dr Anderson?"

Well she kind of blurted that out. And she looked flustered.

"Why were you listening at my door?"

She recovered from her stagger into the room and pulled herself up to her not inconsiderable fullest height. Her cheeks were a rather becoming pink.

"I was not listening at your door, Joshua, I was on my way in to…to, er… give you a thing when you threw the door open."

She waved her hand vaguely in the air.

"And who's Dr. Anderson?"

"You came to give me a half-eaten apple?"

Damn, who'd have Alabaster skin, her cheeks are flushed much pinker now.

"Yes, because I remembered that you hadn't had any fruit for lunch, and you need to eat fruit. Everybody should have at least 5 portions of fresh fruit a day. Who's Dr. Anderson?"

God the woman can be relentless. Normally I'd be proud.

I threw up my hands in frustration. I hate it when Donna obsesses. She's definitely lost her chance to hear about George.

"Dr Anderson is a…a guy!"

"A friend?"

"NO! he's a dork. He doesn't know anything!"

Whoops, tactical error.

Donna's starting to look a little wild eyed. What is with her today?

"Doesn't know anything about what? Is he…is he a medical doctor?"

"Sort of"

She's starting to scare me now. She actually looks worried.

"Sort of? Sort of? What does that mean? He is or he isn't!"

How did this get started? Perhaps I ought to tell her just to get her to shut up.

"He's a…um", on second thoughts, I won't tell her, "He's a specialist".

So there.

"Specialist!"

Her eyes are so big now, there's barely any blue left, and the pink has gone from her cheeks.

"Donna, how much coffee have you had this morning?"

"Don't change the subject Joshua"

"I'm not changing the subject. I didn't even start the subject. A subject, I might add that is none of your business."

My annoyance must have come through, because she pulls herself together.

"Sorry. It's just… I mean, you would tell me if…"

"Donna"

"Yes?"

"Your flat mate"

"Cindy? What about her?"

"Not about her. About her cats."

"What about Cindy's cats?"

"Do they… do they get bored?"

"Do my flat mate Cindy's cats get bored?"

Damn, she's starting to get wild-eyed again. It was a perfectly reasonable question. I hope George appreciates the torture he's putting me through.

"Yes"

Silence

"Well do they?"

"Do they what?"

"Get bored?"

"Do they get bored?"

What is going on? Why is Tom Stoppard scripting my life?

"Donna, are you all right?"

As I ask that question, it suddenly hits me. Her frankly bizarre behaviour. Her paranoia over a doctor she's never met. The fact that one minute she is flushed, the next as pale as a ghost.

Oh. My. God.

Is she sick? Is she afraid I'll find out? Is it serious? Am I jumping to conclusions?

Maybe. But that doesn't stop a very, very cold lump appearing in the vicinity of my stomach. I'm finding it difficult to breathe. The thought of Donnatella Moss being sick is enough to send my poor abused heart crazy with anxiety.

"No, I don't think I am", she says distractedly. She has her hand on her head as though trying to keep her hair from flying off.

"What?"

God, did that sound as strangled as it felt?

I guess it did because her eyes bore into mine with sudden intensity. Her expression has moved from confused and worried to alarmed. The cold gets more intense. There must be something wrong. I can see it in her face, the way she's looking at me. I think I even groan a little.

"Josh…", almost whispered.

The phone rings.

I grab at it as though it was the last cookie in Mrs. Landingham's jar, and given the sort of luck I've had on the phone today, that's saying quite a lot. I want to talk to Donna, but not just yet, I need time to think a bit first.

It's my neighbour's son Robin (Not Robbie, apparently).

"Hey, Robin. How's George?"

Donna is still standing there and she's getting that curious look in her eyes again. Damn, perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned George.

Then my day gets worse.

Robin (who's 11, and a bit 'sensitive') is tearful and incoherent. But even in my distracted state I manage to hear the words.

George is dead.

I'm so stunned by this turn of events that I simply gape at the phone like a drunken guppy. I'm peripherally aware of Donna saying my name, but I'm trying to concentrate on Robin's garbled explanation. He say's it's all his fault - then something about not securing the cage properly, and as he left, my chinchilla making a desperate bid for freedom through the door, straight into the path of a passing Ford.

George is dead. Squashed flat by a car.

Quick, painful and bloody.

Poor George.

TBC

How will Josh react to George's death? Why is he so stupid about Donna? And what does Donna think about all this?

Read on and find out…

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	4. The Lamentable Demise of George 4

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 4

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 4

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Donna POV  
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. General season 2 stuff 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback will be taken in, fed and loved to excess

I'm really worried about Josh.

Let me rephrase that.

I'm more worried than usual about Josh.

Actually, I think I'm past worried, into the realms of frantic.

I thought he was getting better, I really did. Up until this afternoon, it had been a pretty good day. Until that damn doctor called. Call me paranoid, but when a person you really care about almost dies from a horrible violent act, has a long and grim recovery and then almost loses himself in PTSD, you find yourself watching him like a hawk, even thought you know, intellectually, that he's getting better.

Josh is a strong man - there's no doubt about that. But he's also a brooder, and a bottler. He broods and bottles and broods some more, until everything explodes in his face and makes a very nasty mess. Which I have to clean up.

I'll tell you something about Josh that very few people get. He's a charismatic person (boy, is he ever), and he loves to be the centre of attention. When he's noticed for his wit, his brilliance and his masterful strategies (I'm paraphrasing him, by the way), he's a very happy boy indeed. But make him the centre of attention for being hurt, or sick, or mentally damaged. Well, hate is not strong enough a word to describe how he feels about that.

It's like taking a shy agoraphobic, sticking him on the stage at the New York Met and telling him to sing the last act of _Die Meistersingers_.

Total mental withdrawal with a side order of self-hatred and a paranoia chaser.

So, I was not particularly surprised that he fielded my questions about Dr Anderson. I was surprised to get as much out of him as I did. Unfortunately, what I did get out of him frankly terrified me.

Why was Josh receiving calls from a medical doctor, a medical _specialist_, and then refusing to tell me anything about it? If it were anyone else, I'd hardly be concerned, but this was Josh and I…. well, I worry.

While I was stood in his office, still trying to process this information about Dr Anderson, the medical specialist, Josh went completely off the rails and started rambling about Cindy's cats.

What?

I mean, what?

Was this a terrible attempt to change the subject? Was it avoidance? Denial? Had his mind finally snapped?

I was so confused, I just stood there parroting his questions back to him slowly and stupidly like a…a…a very slow and stupid person.

I must have looked pretty deranged myself, because he jumped back into the reality zone long enough to ask me if I was all right.

ALL RIGHT? OF COURSE I'M NOT ALL RIGHT

"No, I don't think I am" I said with difficulty, staring him in the knees and trying not to pull my hair out by the roots.

"What?"

Woah. Was that his voice? It sounded alarming enough for me to drag my eyes up to his face at any rate

OhGodohGodohGod

He was as pale as a pancake and his chest was hitching in that funny way it did when he couldn't breathe properly. Trust me, I know what it looks like. I think I may have said his name, but I was so scared at that moment, even my thoughts were a blank.

The phone rang. Josh snatched at it, his voice sounding a bit more normal and I tried to pull myself together. I mean, I hadn't quite got to the point where I was going to wrestle the phone from his hand and call 911, but I'd got pretty close and it was time to talk myself down from the ledge and think things through a bit more rationally.

But the curse of the phone struck again.

My brain, on a bit of a time delay had finally registered what he'd been saying. I just had time to briefly ponder the question 'Who's Robin? and who's George?' when I noticed that Josh's face was screwing up in the way it does when he gets some bad news. In fact, it was a kind of shadowy reflection of the expression he'd had when I'd told him about his Father almost 3 years ago. That wasn't a face you forgot in a hurry.

It appears I wasn't far wrong.

"He's dead?"

Josh sounded almost unbelieving.

"Josh? Who's dead?"

'Was it George?' I added mentally

"George is dead?"

Guess so.

"How?" 

His voice sounded confused and plaintive and it was all I could do to stop myself leaping across the room and hugging him. I didn't because his body was positively vibrating with that 'leave-me-alone-to-brood-and-take-Wagner-off-the-programme-for-today' vibe he gets.

I contented myself with another,

"Josh?"

I don't think he heard me. He just stood there with the phone to his ear looking pale and shell-shocked. Then he winced a little and said,

"It's Okay, it's not your fault. Really. I don't blame you at all. Honestly. Look, just stop crying would you?"

He rambled on like that for a little while, then ended the phone call with a mumbled goodbye and sat down abruptly on the edge of his desk. Then he started at me blankly.

"George is dead", he said eventually

"Yes", I replied, resisting the temptation to ask 'who's George?' as I don't think he would have heard me.

He stared at me some more, then said quietly,

"Today has not been a good day." Then he shook his head as though trying to jostle some sense back into it.

I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes. Worry and concern and… quite a few other emotions were doing battle in my mind. And he sat there looking lost and confused. Before I could rationalise the action, I walked straight on over to him and put my hand against his cheek.

"Josh"

He leaned into my hand. It was a definite lean. The threatened tears started crowding into my throat. Then he dredged a smile up from somewhere and said ruefully,

"I can't believe I'm reacting like this about a…"

"JOSH!"

I jerked back, my hand whipping away from him as though repulsed. Josh struggled to his feet just as Sam strode through the door with his man-with-a-mission face.

"Hey, Sam", Josh managed weakly.

"Hey Josh. The President want's to see you."

"Now?"

"Of course now. He's going to Belgium in a couple of hours and wants to catch up with you before he leaves."

"Oh. Okay."

He shook himself some more, straightened his tie and headed for the door.

"Josh?"

I don't know why I said it like that. I didn't even know what I was going to say. He stopped, turned slightly to look at me, shot me a totally intense and indecipherable look, then started hustling himself out of there again, brushing against Sam as he strode out of the door.

A faint, "Later, Donna" drifted back into his office.

I must have stared after him for quite a while because when I finally shifted my gaze to the other occupant of the room, he was shooting me a very knowing look. Sam Seabourne can be very irritating on occasion.

"Hope I wasn't interrupting anything?"

TBC

Well was he? Only we know the answer. Will Donna grill Sam about George? Why is she so stupid about Josh? Donna's story continues after the break.

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	5. The Lamentable Demise of George 5

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 5

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 5

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Donna POV continued  
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. General season 2 stuff 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback will be taken in, fed and loved to excess

"Hope I wasn't interrupting anything?"

Sam said this in his characteristic mild and slightly bland tone of voice. He uses it when he wants to insinuate something, but give himself an out at the same time, just in case he's wrong.

"No, nothing at all."

"Okay" (with a very subtle smirk)

Damn lawyers.

Then he said more naturally,

"Is Josh all right?"

"What? Why do you say that? Did he not look all right? Did he look sick?"

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an overreaction.

"Is Josh sick?"

"Did he look like he was?"

"Did Josh look sick?"

"Yes."

"No"

Oh.

"Okay"

"But…"

WHAT? WHAT?

"Yes?"

"He looked kind of upset"

Ah. George.

"Sam, who's George?"

Sam looked confused at my apparent non-sequitor.

"George who? "

"I don't know. Do you know anyone called George, at least, do you know if Josh knows anyone called George."

I thought about this a moment.

"I mean, obviously he _does_ know someone called George, but do you know who that would be? Other than his name is George…"

Sam, struggling manfully throughout my sudden unfortunate descent into incoherence suddenly brightened.

"I know someone called Irving."

Why did I even bother getting out of bed this morning?

"Irving?"

"Yeah. You know…George Washington - Washington Irving…"

He smiled guilelessly at his own joke.

"SAM"

He looked disappointed.

"Oh, Okay. Point taken."

He paused and pondered whilst I writhed with anticipation.

"Josh's room mate at Yale was called George. That's the only George I can think of at any rate."

Oh no.

"Were they good friends?"

That came out a little strangled, and Sam shot me a concerned look.

"Why do you ask?"

"He's dead"

Well, that surprised him. His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"George is dead?"

"Yes"

"Oh. You think that's why Josh looked upset?"

"Well, obviously"

Sam shook his head.

"What?"

"He hated George. Couldn't stand the guy."

"Really? Why were they room mates?"

"Noah Lyman really liked George. Josh didn't want to disappoint his Father so he put up with George."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Oh, he also wrote letters home about how much he liked his room mate, and how they were best buddies and stuff like that."

"That doesn't sound like Josh."

Sam put his head on one side and considered me a moment.

"What?"

"I forgot that you'd never met Mr. Lyman. He was a good man. Josh idolised him."

Well, I knew that part at any rate.

"Okay"

That rather overstated the case as I was now even more confused than ever.

"So you don't think he was upset by George's death?"

"Well probably not, no. Especially as he told me that he used to fantasise about stabbing George in his sleep."

"Oh"

"Yeah"

"Unless…"

"What?"

"Well, he could, you know, be feeling guilty because he despised George so much, and now he's dead."

Actually, that didn't sound unlikely at all. Not for 'take-the-weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders' Lyman. Josh was a past master at assuming guilt at the slightest provocation. Well, unless something actually _was_ his fault, in which case he tended to blame everybody else.

"Yeah. You could be right."

"Right. Well, if we've sorted that out, I'll…"

Sam trailed off and indicated the open door.

"Oh, well, you probably have to go and write a speech or something. Thanks Sam"

He nodded, turned and walked to the door. I was quite surprised that he wasn't more curious about the odd conversation we'd been having.

"Oh, Donna?"

Damn, another lawyer's trick.

I regarded him suspiciously as he stood, slightly turned in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"That was a very confusing conversation we just had."

"It was?"

"Yep."

"So?"

"So, you know I'll be asking Josh about it later, don't you?"

Bless you, Sam Seabourne.

"You will?"

"Yes"

"Okay"

"Okay"

He left with a quick smile and a subtle wave

I was left all alone in Josh's office.

All alone in Josh's office?

Hmmm.

There is no doubt that I am a smooth operator. But when I operate, it's generally pretty above board and out in the open. In other words, I don't sneak and I don't spy. I was about to break that unwritten rule.

I didn't feel too guilty about the action I was about to take though, as it was motivated entirely out of concern for Josh. I'd come down from the panicked high I had been on 10 minutes before, but I knew that he was keeping something from me, and I was determined to find out what it was.

Consequently, I made a beeline for his laptop which was sitting innocuously but prominently on his desk.

Josh is useless with computers, but he does occasionally do some work at home on the laptop and the fact that he'd been using it at work was ringing alarm bells in my head. So, having quietly closed the door, I gingerly opened the laptop.

Now isn't that interesting?

He'd left his browser running. What had he been looking for on the Internet? I'd barely had time to formulate this thought before my hand had moved and opened up the History folder.

I scanned the list. Hmm…map of the Everglades, well that was work related at least…what was that? A site about chinchillas? Weird. Come to think of it, he'd probably tried to look for enchiladas or something and got confused…wait a minute…medical sites? Lots of them? A whole damn list of them?

Oh. No.

Hands trembling, I clicked on one at random and was rewarded by a very dry looking document filled with scientific terms. I never got to read it because the title alone was enough to send cold shivers down my spine.

__

Possible long-term side effects of traumatic pneumothorax

Oh Josh.

I closed the laptop a little too harshly and the cable clattered against his White House coffee mug.

This was getting a little too big for me. I needed to talk to someone. But who? Who cared about Josh the person as well as Josh the politician? Leo? No, no, no and no again. I wasn't going to do _that_ again.

Toby? Hardly. CJ?

Ah. CJ.

Yes.

I now had a plan.

TBC

As we leave Donna seeking out CJ and Sam in his office writing a speech, or something, let us rejoin Josh on his way to the Oval Office. Will he tell the President about George? Will the President even care? I bet you can't wait to find out.

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	6. The Lamentable Demise of George 6

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 6

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 6

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Josh POV  
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless 

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, guys. I'm thinking of maybe building an extension to accommodate it more comfortably.

Did I mention I was having a not-good day?

My chinchilla is dead. Something is up with Donna. And now I have to go and talk to the President of the United States.

Bite me.

To make matters worse, Mrs. Landingham waves me on through to the Oval Office without the slightest indication that she has any intention of ever offering me a cookie. Perhaps she's heard that I can't keep my pets alive.

Oh dear, now I'm getting maudlin. That frame of mind really won't do when you're about to meet with the leader of the free world.

At the door, I make a valiant attempt to pull myself together and look calm and professional, then I stride in purposefully until I'm standing on the presidential seal.

"Hello Josh. You're looking a little wild-eyed. What's up?"

Damn.

Then I make a snap decision. This is based on a couple of factors. Firstly, the President is about to jet off to Belgium so is unlikely to be further involved in the debacle that is my day, and secondly…well…I like and trust the man.

"My chinchilla died"

The relief of saying it is so great that I almost smile.

The President looks understandably bemused.

"You have a chinchilla?"

"Well, I _used _to. His name was George."

I can see a glint of humour in President Bartlet's eyes. Much to my own surprise, this makes me feel slightly better.

"As in George Washington?"

"Er…no. George Faraday."

"Like the scientist?"

"I think you'll find that was _Michael _Faraday, sir."

He pins me with a glare.

"I was referring to the coincidence of surname Josh, not the entire name. I know much about Michael Faraday."

"I don't doubt it, sir"

"I've probably forgotten more about Michael Faraday than you'll ever know."

"Again, sir, I have no doubt."

"Are you mocking me Josh?"

"Never Mr President."

"Good. Just so we're clear on that."

He put his glasses on and rifled through the papers on his desk. Was that it? Was that all he had to say on the subject? Not even a word of sympathy?

"Oh, Josh?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Before we move on to more important, though admittedly less interesting subjects, would you enlighten me on one point?"

He's going to ask the question…

"Who is George Faraday and why did you name your deceased pet after him?"

He did. Damn, I was hoping to avoid that one.

"George Faraday was my room mate at Yale."

"And? You saw a chinchilla and he reminded you of George? Did George look like a chinchilla?"

Actually, this aspect of the 'naming' had not occurred to me before. 

"It's funny you should say that, sir because, now I come to think about it, there was something a bit rodent-y about George. I mean, he didn't have whiskers or fur, at least, I don't think he had fur, but he did have a pointy little nose. And he twitched."

Oh God, I'm rambling in front of my President.

"He twitched?"

"Yes"

"All the time?"

"Er…no. Generally only when he heard loud noises"

"Like a rodent?"

"Exactly"

"But that's not why you named you pet after him?"

"No"

The President is beginning to look as if he wished he'd never started the conversation, but is determined to see it through to the bitter end.

"So, why _did _you name your chinchilla George?"

I sigh, quite loudly I think, because the President shoots me a curious look. All I can think at this moment is that I'm tired and I want my real life back. I want to stop talking about my brief career as a pet-owner and let poor squashed George rest in peace. I want to go somewhere quiet and talk to Donna and tell her I'm worried about her and make her let me help. Maybe I could get her to put her hand against my cheek again…

"Josh?"

"Sorry, sir."

__

Finish it, just finish it.

"I called my chinchilla after my old room mate, because I really disliked him."

"I'd never have guessed"

Well, that deserved a smile.

"But, I _do_ like the name George. Unfortunately, every time I hear the name George, all I can think of is the really, really annoying and hateful person I shared a room with 15 years ago."

"So this was your way of redeeming the name?"

"Yes"

I hope the look I'm giving him is grateful enough. I knew there was a reason I got this man elected President.

"Okay."

Thank goodness that's over.

"One last thing."

__

Please, someone stop him!

"Yes?"

"How did he die?"

I sigh again and shift uncomfortably.

"Actually, sir, I think he kind of committed suicide"

The look the President is giving me is totally unreadable.

"Joshua, I am not in the least surprised."

Twenty minutes later, (legitimate) business finished, I find myself wandering back to the West Wing without any clear idea of what to do next. Not that I don't have lots and lots of very important work to get on with you understand, but I'm obsessing about Donna. I'm pretty sure I was jumping to some pretty wild and unsubstantiated conclusions about her back in my office half an hour ago and if I go to talk to her now, I'm bound to say something stupid. I need a second opinion.

I go to see Sam.

"Hey, Josh, what's up?"

He's hunched over his laptop with the meditative look on his face. I think it's an expression they teach at the Speechwriters' Guild.

"Can I ask you something?"

His head comes up and he looks at me expectantly. _Too_ expectantly. It's like he's already guessed what I'm going to ask. There's even a hint of sympathy in his eyes, ready to leap out and smother me if needed.

Does he know something I don't know? About Donna?

"Of course, Josh, you can ask me anything."

Okay, that was said with way too much empathy for my liking. My heart sinking fast, I manage,

" Did Donna seem all right to you, earlier?"

Now he looks surprised. Maybe that wasn't what he was expecting after all.

"What is with you two today?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Donna asked the same thing about you earlier."

Donna did?

"Why would she do something like that?"

He has his 'you're a dunce Josh' look now.

"Gee, I don't know, perhaps it had something to do with her worrying about you because George is dead"

Have I suddenly entered a parallel dimension?

"How did you know about George?"

"Donna told me."

"How did Donna know about George?"

Sam's starting to look slightly concerned.

"You told her, Josh"

He says it carefully as thought I'm a five-year-old, or a Republican.

I have to stop to think for a moment. I told Donna about George? I couldn't have done - I'm pretty sure I would have remembered. The ways of my assistant are tortured and subtle, but I don't think even she has managed to hot-wire her way into my brain.

"No, I'm pretty sure I didn't"

Concern is positively dripping from him now.

"Josh, would you like to sit down?"

TBC

Will the President reveal what he knows? Have I forgotten about Donna and CJ? Will Josh and Sam continue to speak at cross-purposes? (You betcha) Just for a change of pace, we'll let Sam tell the next bit…

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	7. The Lamentable Demise of George 7

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 7

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 7

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Sam POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, guys. I'm thinking of maybe building an extension to accommodate it more comfortably.

Joshua Lyman is my best friend.

There are many things I like about him which have nothing to do with his skill as a politician, his brilliant mind or, God help us, his verbal SAT score. I'll tell you two things about him instead. He often does the wrong thing for the right reason, and he's incredibly loyal to his friends.

Granted, he wasn't very supportive about the Lauren thing (or the Mallory thing, come to think of it), but he has been there for me in the past. He's helped me with stuff that I'm not even going to _think_ about now for fear of appearing, you know, unmanly.

He can also be arrogant, conceited, egotistical, verbose, flippant and plain overpowering but the most irritating thing about him is that he doesn't return the favour. He doesn't let his friends help him.

Do you know what it's like to see your friend suffer the nine circles of hell but be powerless to help? He put his hand through a window rather than let anyone share his pain. (And yes, I do know about that incident, but I'm not revealing my sources).

I want to help. I want to be Virgil to his Dante.

Which would make Donna his Beatrice, I suppose. Guiding him towards the light…

The _Divine Comedy_ not withstanding, I doubt there is anything approaching epic proportions going on in the West Wing today, but I suspect that he could do with some help, and I want to get it right this time. I want to be there for him.

When I went to his office to send him to President Bartlet, there was a bit of an 'atmosphere'. I suspected at first that it was simply embarrassment, as Donna had obviously been fondling his face again. She does that a lot. But then I realised that Josh looked upset and sounded terse, and Donna was positively radiating concern.

I've come to know Donna's worried face well over the past 9 months or so and she was wearing it then.

It transpired (after I had made some sense of Donna's ramblings), that Josh's old roommate from Yale had died. Josh had told me about him over his third beer a couple of years ago and I had forgotten all about him until now. Well who wouldn't? It wasn't as if I'd ever meet the guy, and he sounded weird anyway - sort of mean and rodent-y.

But knowing Josh as I did, and I suspect that I knew him better than even La Bella Donna, he'd find some way to beat himself up about the death of a guy he hadn't seen in years and hadn't liked in the first place anyway.

So, I determined to put my all-wise Virgil-hat on and seek Josh out later. Maybe I could ask him about it casually over a beer or something, in a very guy-like fashion.

Josh found me first.

He's standing in front of me now.

I've suddenly realised that perhaps this isn't a problem that can be solved with a bit of sage advice and a mildly alcoholic beverage.

"Josh, would you like to sit down?"

He does, without a word.

I'm determined to tread carefully, in case he suddenly snaps or something. I also keep a wary eye out for nearby glassware. 

"Donna told me about George, Josh, and she implied that she'd just heard the news from you."

"No, no, no" he says, shaking his head vehemently.

I'm thinking: _Denial? Hysterical amnesia?_

"I remember thinking that there was no way I would tell Donna about George, because she was giving me such a hard time about the Anderson guy."

"Who's Anderson?"

He rolls his eyes at me in an exaggerated fashion

"Et tu Samuel?" He sighs,

"Anderson is a vet."

I'm trying really hard to make sense of this. Maybe there is a connection here that I'm supposed to make, but he's afraid to tell me out loud, so I ask cautiously,

"And, what? Was George in Vietnam?"

He stares at me as though I've grown a second head. Maybe even a third. Then he throws back his head and lets out the loudest guffaw I think I've ever heard him make. He's laughing so hard, the office chair he's sitting on is losing air and he's gradually sinking lower. Tears are streaming down his face. 

He doesn't stop for 3 and a half minutes. I know because after the first minute, I started timing him. I thought maybe the doctors might want to know.

He eventually subsides into little hysterical giggles and I feel like crying because my best friend is cracking up right in front of my eyes. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so bad if he would just stop with the laughter.

"Josh, stop laughing".

Giggle, giggle, giggle

"JOSH! STOP!"

That snaps him out of it.

"Sorry, sorry", he manages, wiping at his eyes, "I was just surprised. Your jokes are usually so lame."

He thought I was joking?

"You thought I was joking?"

His eyes start bulging out of his head and for one terrified instant, I think he's having a heart attack until I realise that he's trying to suppress yet another laughter-bout.

"Josh you're scaring me."

He lets out a puff of air and wipes his eyes again.

"Sorry, I realise that you're not used to this sort of reaction", he says, and grins at me wildly. Then he giggles.

"Josh!"

He must realise, belatedly, that I'm serious, because he pulls himself together. Much to my relief.

"Sorry, it's been a really long day"

"It's only half past three."

"I know!" he says, as if that explains everything.

He's threatening to go on another trip to giggle-land. As far as I'm concerned, if he does it that, he's lost his return ticket to Sane City, so I say quickly,

"Is this because you feel guilty?"  


Well that sobers him up instantly and I can't help but feel a sort of grim satisfaction. He's also staring at me as though I'm a crazy person. I know, because it's the same expression I've had on my face for the past ten minutes.

"Guilty about what?"

"About George's death."

He narrows his eyes at me and I can almost sense him closing off. I leap for the chink in the door.

"George's death wasn't your fault."

"How do you figure that? Of course it was my fault."

Ah. Progress. I was right about the guilt-trip.

"How could it be your fault?"

He gives me one of his patented 'You're stupid, Sam' looks,

"Because I didn't treat him right and the poor little rat practically flung himself under a car!"

Oh. I've belatedly realised that there's probably more to this story than I realised.

"Suicide?"

That came out as an almost unmanly squeak, so I clear my throat thoroughly. 

"Well, more sort of accidental suicide"

"Is there such a thing?"

"Well. I would ask George that, but he's dead, so I can't"

Well, the words are bitter, but he doesn't really _sound_ bitter. Actually he sounds as if he's trying to make a joke. How could that be?

"Josh, when did you last speak to George?"

He looks a little embarrassed, when he answers,

"This morning"

I'm frozen in my chair in shock. He's been in contact with George recently? There is _far _more to this story than I realised. I also realise that I'm probably under-qualified to help Josh through this emotional quagmire.

"Josh, you could talk to someone about this, you know"

I mean Stanley, and I hope he understands that too.

He looks a little surprised, then laughs

"Ha! No way, that's what got me into this situation in the first place!"

Things must be bad if he's even avoiding therapy. While I'm processing this, Josh stands.

"Well, thanks Sam, you've been extremely unhelpful. I'd love to stay but I have to go and talk to Donna now"

And because I'm upset, and I'm angry that he won't accept help from me, or seek help for himself, I say.

"Go on then, perhaps she'll fondle your face some more."

I regret it instantly, but I'm also fascinated to see that Josh is blushing. Even the tips of his ears are pink. I didn't know he had it in him.

"She was just being a…a…good assistant"

In spite of myself, I'm amused. This deep-denial thing that Josh and Donna have going has kept me amused for years.

"Josh, Cathy is a good assistant, but she never fondles my face. I'd think it was strange if she did and I'd probably fire her. Ginger never fondles Toby's face and I'm pretty damned sure that Cathy has never fondled CJ."

He runs out the room.

I can't say I'm sorry, because although that last bit was amusing, the rest was pretty worrying and it was enough to make me want to lay my head on my desk for a few hours.

I decide that I'm not Virgil after all. I'm probably more of a Bud Abbott.

I'll go and seek a wiser and stronger guide than I.

CJ.

TBC

Guess where we're going next? What will Donna tell CJ? What will Sam tell CJ? Ooooh, the suspense.

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	8. The Lamentable Demise of George 8

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 8

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 8

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Donna POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, guys. I'm thinking of maybe building an extension to accommodate it more comfortably.

Prior apologies to anyone from Belgium. I'm sure it's a lovely, lovely country.

I love CJ. I think she's great, I really do. She is a Soul Sister.

I also like her because she loves Josh. Not in any romantic way, you understand, but in practically every other way that's possible, and still legal.

Their relationship is quite touching in many ways, because they genuinely care for each other and try to support each other. Sometimes I like to think that Josh sees CJ as the sort of woman his sister Joanie may have become if she'd lived.

I also love the fact that Josh likes strong, opinionated women.

That aside (and I don't know why I brought it up in the first place), CJ's fraternal love for Josh is mostly why I'm standing outside her office now. The other part is because, like me, she also has no illusions about him. And she can spot trouble coming 3 miles off on a dark stormy night with no compass.

The woman is a High Priestess. Believe it.

Taking a deep breath, I knock.

"If you're Danny or Toby, go away. Otherwise, please come in."

I go in.

"What have Danny and Toby done?"

She is scribbling away furiously at her desk, nose almost touching the paper. She's always losing her glasses. She waves her free hand in my general direction.

"Hi Donna. I always tell Danny to go away on principle and if I let Toby in he would make me miserable by moaning about having to go to Belgium with the President."

"Doesn't he like Belgium?"

"He says Brussels is ugly and soulless, and the country is populated by numerous strange races who won't and don't talk to each other, let alone anyone else, but especially Americans."

"Oh, Okay."

She finishes a sentence with a flourish, then looks up at me, smiling, pleased with herself.

"What can I…?"

She trails off and her face falls so fast it's almost funny.

"What's he done now?"

"Excuse me?"

"You have your Josh-face on, Donna. "

"My Josh-face?"

"Yes! You only have that face when Josh has done something stupid, or is about to do something stupid. So tell me - what brainless thing has he done now? And tell me quickly so I have more time to rush to his office and beat him about the head with a hockey stick."  


Despite myself, I'm diverted.

"You have a hockey stick?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Josh hasn't done anything stupid"

She just looks at me, and I sigh.

"Well, no more stupid than usual"

She's not entirely convinced, but is letting it ride for the moment.

"I'm worried about him", I say lamely

CJ groans despairingly

"I knew it! That man will destroy us one day! Wait 'til I…"

"CJ!"

She looks at me again, a bit more closely this time.

"You _are_ worried about him. What's going on?"

So I tell her about the events of the morning. Dr Anderson, George, the Internet sites, the whole kit and caboodle.

She's very quiet when I finish and it's clear that there's a lot going round in her head.

"Donna", she says eventually, "I'm not trying to diminish your concerns, but have you considered that maybe you're jumping to conclusions?"

"Of course I have, CJ! In fact, the possibility that I'm wrong is the only thing that's keeping me from having a nervous breakdown!"

"Donna, are you listening to yourself? That's exactly what I mean! You are so caught up in obsessing about Josh's health that you're seeing relapses around every corner."

Those damn tears are back, picking at my eyes. Why don't they just fall and get it over with?

"I've had reason to be worried, CJ."

Her eyes soften.

"I know you have. You aren't the only one either. We all care about him."

Pick, pick, pick

"He's so much better, you know. If you just took a step back every so often, you would see how much better he is."

I can't meet her eyes any longer, because I know she's right.

"And contrary to appearances, Josh is an adult. He's capable of taking responsibility for himself. He also has the right to do things in his own way and at his own pace. I know you love him, but…"

"I don't love him, he's my boss."

Well said, Donna!

Unfortunately, when I raise my eyes, CJ's looking at me in a way that can only be described as pitying.

"Since when were the two mutually exclusive?"

"CJ, I don't…"

She sighs in exasperation,

"This denial thing was cute for a while, but now it's just getting old."

Whoops, the tears are back in force.

"I'm not in denial." I think I'm mumbling, but CJ catches it anyway.

"You're not?"

"No. I'm in suppression"

I can't believe I just told her that. Did I say this woman was a Priestess? No way, I think she's an evil sorceress. She is so not my soul sister.

She's looking surprised, and oddly satisfied.

"So one of you finally got a clue."

I don't pretend to misunderstand.

It's just as well that I didn't make a response, because there is a sudden loud knock on the door and Leo pokes his head into the office without waiting for a response.

"Hi CJ. Donna, have you seen Josh?"

Now, not only is this uncharacteristically brusque for Leo, he's also looking pretty concerned about something, and despite my best efforts, the volume on my worry-monitor has just been turned up a notch.

"He went to see the President."

Leo's face scrunches up slightly.

"I know, I was just in the Oval Office, but Josh isn't back at his desk yet."

I have a feeling I know what this is about.

"He told the President?"

"Excuse me?"

Well, perhaps it was a little cryptic.

"I mean, Josh told the President about George, and the President told you?"

"You know about George?"

Well, _dur_

"Yes"

Leo looks as if he's not sure whether to be upset or angry.

"Well, looks like I'm the last to know again."

He turns and exits the room as abruptly as he arrived.

CJ and I look at each other and simultaneously decide to pretend that the last minute never happened. I figure that whatever it is going on about George, whom I have not the slightest interest in, except in his effect on Josh, is better left in Leo's hands. I've got my own worries to …er… worry about.

Talking of which…

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"You have to talk to him."

I must have looked pretty alarmed, because CJ rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"Not about _that_ thing, about the other thing."

"You think?"

"Yes! Just enquire casually and calmly about his health and this time listen with your ears instead of your heart."

I must be feeling better, because that produces a smile

  
"Well, that was very poetic, CJ"

She smirks

"I have my moments. Now, hop off and find Josh"

"Yes ma'am"

I leave the office to her quiet chuckle and see Sam coming towards me. He's looking like he just lost his best friend, and I've had about as much as I can cope with for one afternoon, so I hop off in the other direction as fast as my legs can carry me.

TBC

Bet you didn't expect Leo to turn up! Will Leo confront Josh? Or will Donna get there first? What will Sam tell CJ? Will I manage to tie up all the loose ends?

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	9. The Lamentable Demise of George 9

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 9

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 9

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

CJ POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, guys. I'm thinking of maybe building an extension to accommodate it more comfortably.

I have been the Press Secretary for the Bartlet White House for over 2 years, and there are still days when I wonder what on earth it is I do here.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job, I adore it, but I've yet to find my equilibrium. Sometimes I'm Claudia Jean Cregg, who finds a way to answer the tough questions and make us all look good. Occasionally I'm just plain CJ … _that tall gal over there, from California, but let's not tell her anything important, 'cos she might, you know, tell the Press…_

Excuse me guys? Have you bothered to look at my job title lately?

To give the Boy's Club credit, they have been better about keeping me in the loop over the last year. And that probably stems from the events at the Newseum. If there was one tiny, minuscule, good thing that came out of that nightmare, it was that we, the Senior Staff, became closer. It was Us against Them.

Unfortunately, the bad things that came out are also still with us - but I'll get onto _that_ in a minute…

The trouble is, I don't know from one day to the next exactly what role I'm supposed to be assuming. Will I be the big, bad witch? Am I the strong, wise _Feminista_, today? Will I have to be a sister to Josh? Will I have to suck it up and be the mommy to a bunch of inner five-year-olds?

There are many things left out of my job description.

Take today. I was having a good day there for a while. There were no hideous disasters hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles, I had managed to snub Danny no less than five times, and I had even found time to tease Toby unmercifully about his hatred of the Belgians. I should have known it wouldn't last…

…Donna turned up with her Josh-face.

I like Donna, she is strong, capable and frighteningly intelligent, but when it comes to Mr Deputy Chief of Staff, she sometimes has a blind spot the size of Wisconsin. When she poured out her tangled and frankly ludicrous tale of woe, I was hard pressed not to leap up and start shaking her. That girl has got to stop worrying so much about Josh, or she'll be the next one to have a nervous breakdown.

I know, I know, I'm not immune from the Josh worrying myself, the man has certainly given us reason, but I reacted to Donna's tale by becoming a clone of my seventh-grade Social Science teacher. I was wise and sensible. I was hard-headed and logical. I made her cry.

To add insult to injury, Leo also popped his head around the door, evidently on a Josh-salvation mission himself. Will he create another mess for me to salvage?

Then Sam manages to really top off my afternoon. 

Donna has barely left, and he's standing here in front of me like one of the original Lost Boys. Perhaps he's waiting for me to leap up and sew on his shadow?

"I'm worried about Josh."

Join the queue, buster. 

He's practically snivelling. It looks as though mommy-mode needs to be employed. I'm going to have to wipe his runny nose, pat him on the head and kiss it all-better. Figuratively, of course.

They don't pay me enough for this.

"I think he's really lost it CJ"

"What do you mean?"

"I think he's been driven mad by guilt over George's death."

This needs to be nipped in the bud _now_. Sam has a tendency to over-dramatise and once he starts, it's difficult to stop him.

"Don't talk rubbish, Sam"

He's looking earnest now.

"You didn't see him, CJ. He was depressed one minute, then laughing hysterically the next. It was really scary."

Okay, maybe he has a point.

"Why was he laughing hysterically?"

Sam shakes his head in frustration.

"I don't know!", he wails, "there didn't seen to be any reason for it at all!"

He's starting to look panicked now. In fact, his face looks just like Donna's did 10 minutes ago.

"Three and a half minutes, CJ! He laughed non-stop for three and a half minutes! Over nothing!"

He starts pacing and running his fingers through his brown locks. Things have reached a bad pass if Sam Seabourne is desperate enough to mess with the hair.

With a sigh, I send Wendy back to Bloomsbury and start channelling my Sergeant-Major Grandfather.

"Sam! Stop pacing, calm down and SIT!"

He sits.

"Now, tell me, slowly and rationally what happened."

If the story isn't exactly rational, it at least comes out in some sort of order. I try to follow, but when he starts rambling about Vietnam, I'm forced to interrupt.

"Vietnam? How the hell did Vietnam get involved in this? Was George in Vietnam?"

"I don't know!", he wails again, clutching his hair. "That's what I thought, but then Josh started his descent into madness and I never got a clear answer."

I can cope with the hair thing, but I've had it with the wailing.

"Sam! You're the Deputy Communications Director; _communicate_ with me, for pity's sake. What did Josh say about Vietnam?"

He takes a deep breath. I hope it's enough for both of us, because I'm holding mine.

"Well, he didn't as such, he just mentioned this guy Anderson, who is something to do with George, and he's a Vet."

Hold on…

__

Donna, phone call, medical specialist…

"Anderson? _Dr_. Anderson?"

"Is he? Okay then, Dr Anderson the Vet…"

He trails off and stares at me in horror.

I think I need to lie down.

"Dr Anderson the vet, Sam", I say calmly. I'm rather proud of myself for that.

"DOCTOR Anderson the VET!"

He's still staring.

"DOCTOR, Sam! He's not a Veteran, he's a VETINARY!"

He buries his face in his hands.

It's all too much for me. I can't help it. I laugh. A lot.

Sam groans into his hands.

"Don't start with me CJ", he moans, "I can't take it anymore. Please stop laughing. Please?"

I'm trying, I really am, but if this is anything like how Josh felt, I'm surprised he only laughed for three and a half minutes.

I'm close to reining in the giggles when Sam sits upright again suddenly and says,

"But wait a minute, why would Josh be talking about a veterinary?"

Actually, he has a point.

"I don't know"

"He doesn't have any pets, I kn…"

The look of horror is on his face again, and I swear he's paled.

"Sam?"

"Oh no, oh no..."

  
"SAM! What is it?"

He closes his eyes, swallows, then says with difficulty,

"Josh was talking about George's death. He said, and I quote, 'the poor little rat practically flung himself under a car'. _Rat_ CJ. He said _rat_,"

My face is aching with the effort of surpressing the laughter building up inside of me. This is so classic.

"Sam," I manage, with only a small waver in my voice, "Did Josh, at any time, actually say that the George who died was his ex-roommate George?"

He's buried his face in his hands again.

"No", he mumbles.

Now I've resorted to pinching my leg, but I'm not succeeding very well as little chuffs of laughter keep escaping from my mouth. If this weren't so hysterically funny, I'd be terrified that these men actually help to run the country.

__

These men?

All desire to laugh has now left me.

"Sam, Leo!"

"What?"

"LEO! He was here a few minutes ago. He wanted to talk to Josh about George!"

Sam's eyes are boggling.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"That George is a…a…is not…human."

I remember Leo's face. A squashed rat does not engender that much concern.

"No, I don't think he does."

This situation requires action. If there is one thing that CJ Cregg does well, it is action. The next moment I'm on my feet and hauling Sam towards the door.

"Quick Sam, we've got to find him before he finds Josh!"

And we're up and running.

TBC

Who will reach Josh first? Leo, Donna or CJ and Sam? Which one will create maximum confusion? I think you know the answer…

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	10. The Lamentable Demise of George 10

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 10

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 10

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Josh POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, guys. 

If you've stuck it out so far - well done! At least I've sorted my tenses out now…

I've decided that there must be something in the water around here.

Not only is Donna behaving strangely, but Sam seems to have developed an unhealthy obsession with George. I mean, you think you know someone, you've been friends with him for years, you're pretty sure you know how he's going to react to any given situation, then he does something so out of kilter that you're left reeling.

My friend Sam, the soul of courtesy, the king of the dry and witty comeback just cracked a sick joke involving my dead pet and the Vietnam War.

I'm sorry, but that's just strange.

Not that I didn't find it funny; in fact, I'm hard pressed not to start giggling again, but that's partly why I'm so bemused and irritated. I shouldn't be laughing at all - I'm trying to put myself in the appropriate frame of mind for a serious conversation with Donna. But I keep being distracted by images of my chinchilla hanging out of a helicopter with a bandanna on his head…

__

Deep breath - and another. 

I will _not_ start laughing again.

I hurry it along and shut myself in my office before Cathy can call for the men in white coats - she was shooting me some very peculiar looks as I passed.

It's not until I'm standing in front of my desk, and wondering why it seems like days since I was last here, that I realise that there is something wrong.

Donna wasn't at her desk.

Now, I don't keep tabs on my assistant to the extent that I know where she is at any given moment, but I can't help but feel that she should know when I want to talk to her and well, make herself available. What could she possibly be doing that's more important?

However, I also know that if I go and look for her, Murphy's law would dictate that we'd spend the rest of the afternoon circling around the West Wing and missing each other by seconds like in some stupid situation comedy.

Frankly, it's beneath my dignity.

So, rather than stand aimlessly around in my office, I decide that I'm more than capable of actually doing some work. I sit down and notice immediately that my laptop is not sitting where I left it. In fact it's been twisted about, the cable is trapped in the lid and my White House coffee mug is teetering on the edge of the desk.

She couldn't have….

She wouldn't have…

Would she?

I gingerly open the machine and find one of the medical sites I was looking at earlier sitting in the browser. I didn't leave it like that did I? I'm sure I didn't.

Has my assistant been spying on me?

Donna has been SPYING on me?

But before I can work up a totally justifiable rage about this, another thought hits me. If Donna's wandering around knowing exactly what I've been researching on _my_ computer, _privately_, I'm going to have to suck it up and tell Leo about the ATVA thing, because if there is one thing I've learned today amidst all of the George-orientated conversations, you can't keep a secret in the West Wing.

I don't seriously expect that Donna would rush out and tell just anybody, but she has gone to Leo behind my back before…

"Josh!"

Speak of the devil. And believe me when I say that Leo is a hell of a lot scarier when he's angry.

He's through the door and starting on me without preamble.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I try to squelch the surge of betrayal I feel at his words. There is only one way that he could have found out about this. I'm going to _kill_ her.

"I was going to tell you Leo, but…"

He doesn't let me finish.

"_Going to tell me_ doesn't cut it, Josh, I'm practically the last to know as it is."

WHAT?

What the hell is Donna trying to do to me?

"Who...who told you?" I stutter finally, strangely terrified about the answer.

"I had to hear it from the President."

She went to the _President_ about this? Her ass is so fired. I'm angry, but I've also got this totally ridiculous desire to cry.

Leo has started pacing now,

"I can't believe you told the President before you told me, Josh. From where I'm standing it looks awfully like you don't trust me."

I barely catch the end of this, because I'm still stuck on the first bit.

Excuse me?

"I didn't tell the President"

He stops and stares at me.

"He says you did."

Am I losing my mind? Why is everybody running around today claiming that I told people things when I know very well that I did nothing of the sort?

"I really didn't, Leo"

He's still staring at me and despite my confusion, I see something in his face that I hadn't noticed before. He looks angry, but it's a kind of surface emotion. Underneath that is hurt and - concern? For me?

"Leo…" I really don't know what to say.

He must see the uncertainty in my face because he takes a step closer and some of the anger leaches away.

"Josh, are you okay?"

I'm really, really tired of people asking me that question. I don't think a day has gone by in the last 9 months when I haven't been asked it. Does he think that because I'm doing a group therapy thing as a favour for Stanley that I'm in danger of losing it again? When will he learn to trust me like he used to?

"Leo, I'm fine, really. It was just a…a…thing. You know. No biggie."

I know that wasn't very articulate, but does he have to shake his head at me like that?

"Josh, I know you. I don't know what crazy spin you put on it for the President, but he told me _casually_ with a _smile_, as though it was something amusing."

Okay, now he's lost me.

"I think you sometimes forget how long I've known you and your family, son. I remember when you were at college. Your father even read me some of your letters."

He called me son.

He mentioned my father.

There is no way that my father belongs anywhere _near_ this insane conversation.

"Leo, what the hell are you talking about?"

I'm growling at him. I'm growling at Leo.

He looks momentarily startled, then, nauseatingly, pity appears in his eyes as well.

"Josh, stop trying to pretend it doesn't matter. I know you haven't seen the boy in 15 years, but you have a right to grieve."

Stop.

Back up.

Grieve?

Oh no.

I was wrong about this conversation being insane; it's full-on baying-at-the-moon loony-tunes. 

Forget about getting the wrong end of the stick - I think the stick's been missed altogether.

"Leo, what exactly did the President tell you?"

I must sound a bit funny to say the least, because Leo's looking around the room as if he's hoping that reinforcements will turn up. Leopold McGarry is not Chief of Staff for a lack of backbone however, because he manfully answers my question,

"He said, and I quote, 'By the way, Leo, I just saw Josh. Did you know that his friend George died today?' Then he smiled as if he'd said something amusing. What the hell did you tell him, Josh, that he'd actually find that news amusing?"

He still looks upset, and I can't say I blame him.

Poor Leo.

He's come here concerned for me. Worried about me. He thinks I'm grieving over the death of an old and apparently beloved roommate because the President chose to favour wit over accuracy.

I feel really bad for him. I really do. I want to make that clear right now because my subsequent actions might not indicate anything of the sort.

I start laughing.

I want to say, "I'm sorry Leo, I really am", but I can't get the words out through the chuckles. My eyes have started streaming again and his stunned expression morphs weirdly.

He's frantic. I don't blame him. I know this looks really bad, but I just can't stop laughing. I have to give poor little George credit; he's made me laugh more times today than I've managed all year.

Finally I waver,

"Leo, I'm fine. This is not what you think."

"You don't know what I'm thinking right now, Josh", he says in a very quiet voice. He's angry again, which I find oddly relieving.

"I was trying to help you, and I'm sorry you find it amusing. You know where to find me if you want to talk."

With that, he turns and stalks out of my office.

Oh Leo, _I'm_ sorry, I'm so sorry.

I stumble to my feet and go after him but I halt at my door in surprise at the sight that greets me.

I watch as CJ and Sam rush into the bull-pen at a rate of knots, grab Leo, who lets out a startled squawk, and haul him bodily towards CJ's office.

What…?

Still trying to assimilate this sight, a movement from the other direction catches my attention and I turn to see Donna sidle round the corner of Sam's office and scuttle towards her desk with her head down.

What…?

She glances toward my office, sees me standing there and straightens abruptly. She stares, nervously

I stare back at her.

So. My 'trustworthy' assistant has returned.

TBC

While CJ and Sam are presumably filling Leo in on the true nature of George, I'll leave you to ponder on what Josh and Donna will have to say to each other…

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	11. The Lamentable Demise of George 11

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 11

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 11

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Donna POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback would be hugely appreciated

For a moment there, I was almost jubilant. 

My plan was to get back to Josh's office to talk to him calmly and rationally, in the way that CJ had suggested so that I could find out exactly what was going on and whether it was something I should be worried about.

She was right. I am totally paranoid about Josh and that is as bad for me as it is for him.

But, that didn't mean that I wasn't nervous, because, after all, since when do Josh and I ever have a serious conversation?

Anyway, I was so apprehensive that I knew very well that if anyone stopped me or talked to me on the way, I would lose my nerve.

So, having scuttled away from Sam outside CJ's office, I decided to take the long way round back to the bullpen. I was successfully elusive for a while, until I spotted Cathy at her desk. She hadn't seen me, so casting about for a second, I grabbed an armful of files from Ginger's (deserted) desk, took a deep breath, and strode purposefully past Cathy, flashing a quick smile and a half-wave and trying to look very busy and important.

That obstacle avoided, I was making a bee-line for my desk, when Leo strode out of Josh's office, his back stiff with what I recognised as anger. Startled, I leapt back into the shadow at the corner of Sam's office just as CJ and Sam appeared out of nowhere and kidnapped Leo. (At any other time, I would have wondered just what _that_ was all about, but I wasn't going to let myself be distracted). Taking yet another deep breath, I slipped out of hiding and practically ran for my desk.

Made it!

As I said, I was almost jubilant.

__

Almost

I'm looking up and all I can see is Josh staring back at me. He's hanging off the doorframe in a manner I normally find endearing, but there's nothing endearing about the expression in his eyes. He's looking at me coldly as though I'm a stranger he's never met and has no intention of ever being introduced to.

Josh _never_ looks at me coldly.

What on earth has happened?

"Donna, can I see you in my office, please?"

Please. Josh said please. He _never_ says please.

I'm suddenly more frightened than I've ever been before as he holds the door open to me, waits politely for me to enter, then closes it firmly behind us.

I feel like a Republican.

He's standing in front of me, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, his eyes on the floor. I just wait, and he lifts them eventually. Behind his closed-off expression is something that looks like hurt.

"Donna…", he begins, then he looks at me more closely and his eyes practically boggle out of his head.

"Donna, what are you holding in your hands?" His voice is so tight, it makes my throat ache in sympathy.

I look rather stupidly down.

Oh. I'd forgotten about those.

I'm still holding the files I swiped from Ginger's desk. I hadn't noticed before, but they are a very distinctive shade of olive green. They are meticulously tidy and neatly labelled in black ink. Only one person I know carries his work in files like these.

Toby.

Josh runs his hand through his already disordered hair. His eyes are wild and almost anguished.

"What _are_ you? The new Mata Hari?"

"Josh! What are you talking about?"

He ignores me and starts pacing. At least the coldness has gone for the moment.

"I mean, what am I supposed to think? You behave oddly all day; you sidle and scuttle and creep; you rifle through the files on my laptop…"

(Whoops)

"…and NOW I find you slinking around suspiciously carrying Toby's files!"

He turns on me, enraged and confused.

"What in the HELL are you DOING?"

Oh this is too much, it's far too much, I've had quite enough for one day already without Josh acting like a crazy person and accusing me, accusing ME of - God knows what. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"FORGET THE STUPID FILES!" I yell, and before I can stop myself, I've thrown them to the floor in a shower of paper.

"I didn't even know what they were when I picked them up. It was just a thing, it was accidental. I don't care about Toby's files. I was so worried about you Josh; I didn't know what I was doing. I haven't known what I've been doing all afternoon…"

I've perhaps said too much, but at least Josh is listening. In fact he's staring at me with his mouth hanging open.

"What…?"

__

My mouth, unfortunately, has yet to catch up with my brain because it keeps on pouring out the words.

"…and I'm sorry about your laptop; I know I shouldn't have looked, but you _scared_ me with the Dr Anderson thing and the George thing and I kept thinking, _what if he's sick, what if he's really sick?_ I mean, you've almost died once right? It could happen again. And I'd have to sit in the hospital like last time and worry and worry. I don't want to do that again, Josh, I don't want to sit in the hospital again…"

I can barely see him through the haze of tears in my eyes and I'm thinking that I should probably stop. I should apologise. I should creep away and die from humiliation. But before I can do any of those things, there is a startled exclamation from somewhere in front of me, a soft rush of motion and Josh has gathered me in his arms and my nose is pressed against his shirt front. It smells clean and cottony.

"Donna, Donna, Donna…" he's saying

"Donnatella…"

He really shouldn't say my name like that; his shirt is getting damp enough as it is. I sniffle against him, but I can't move away because he's cradling my head with his hand.

His mouth is really close to my ear and his breath tickles. I think he hardly knows what he's saying himself.

"…I'm fine. I am. I'm fine. I'm not sick. I'm sorry you were worried, and I'm sorry I shouted. I didn't _really_ think you'd done anything nefarious. You're one of the good guys…"

I give a watery chuckle because really, only Josh Lyman could hold a girl in his arms and call her 'one of the good guys'.

He must have heard me because his hold lightens and he lifts my head from his shoulder with both hands. We're practically nose to nose.

"I _am_ sorry. I was just worried about you."

His eyes can get awfully earnest sometimes.

"You were worried about me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He leans back slightly, shuffles his feet around, looks thoughtful.

"I think I was overcompensating", he says finally.

"I don't understand."

He sighs and releases me. I feel oddly bereft. He's looking down again, and the arms have crossed against his chest. Classic Lyman defensive mode.

"I spent so long obsessed with myself and what I was feeling, I think I kind of forgot that other people were suffering too."

He peeps up, almost shyly. He must have seen my moue of protest because the head goes down again.

"I've been trying to remember, but I don't always get it right. I've been getting it right more often since I bought George, so I guess Stanley was right in some ways…"

"George?" I squeak.

He stops and looks at me ruefully. He's also embarrassed, but trying his best to hide it.

"I guess I need to tell you about George", he mutters

"Your ex-roommate George? The one who's dead?"

He grimaces.

"Who told you that? Leo?"

"No, Sam."

"Sam?"

His eyes are open with surprise, but then they fill with what can only be described as unholy amusement.

"Well, that explains a lot", he says cryptically and grins. Josh Lyman grins.

With dimples and everything.

Then he tells me about George. The whole story from beginning to end. He's embarrassed again as he tells me about buying the chinchilla. He probably believes I'll think he's a wuss or something. Actually, it is kind of wussy, but it's also adorable.

I tell him this.

He blushes and stands there looking at me with this lopsided rueful/sappy smile on his face.

It is a Moment. We are having a Moment.

"JOSHUA LYMAN! What the hell is this story about a dead rat? And you better have a damn good explanation, or so help me God, I'll have you impeached for wasting the President's time."

Leo McGarry strides into the office, face enraged. He's closely followed by a sheepish looking Sam and CJ.

The Three Stooges are back.

TBC

Chin up, we're nearly there. One more part to go…

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



	12. The Lamentable Demise of George 12

When I was seventeen years old, we took a family holiday in Maine

Title: "The Lamentable Demise of George" Part 12

Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr

Email: [madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com][1]   
Category: General, Josh/Donna  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Josh, Donna, a chinchilla. General mayhem and confusion. Many misunderstandings ensue. A touch of angst and a pinch of romance.

Josh POV   
Spoilers: Post-'Noel'. Glancing references to many other shows, but this has veered pretty much into the realm of the plotless (and pointless)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and NBC; I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, as I have no money.

Feedback would be hugely appreciated

I am amazed.

I have had the day from hell in which I've managed to worry my assistant, confuse my friends and generally make a complete jackass out of myself. I had thought that the best I could hope for at the end of it all was to get home in one piece, which would at least one up on my chinchilla who was, presumably, in many, many pieces.

Consequently, I am, as I said, amazed, because I never would have expected the gift that Donna has just given me.

She is smiling. The smile is for me and me alone. I am basking in her glow.

Despite the fact that I have made her worry about me, shouted at her and even accused her of espionage within the space of a few short hours, she can find it in herself to do this thing for me. I am a terrible boss, an appalling slave-driver, a grouch and a grouse, and I should be beating myself about the head and pleading for forgiveness because I don't deserve her.

I do neither of these things, however. I just smile back.

I just told her about George. She said,

"That's adorable, Josh"

Donna thinks I'm adorable.

In effect, I am so far gone that you couldn't haul me back even with a three-day headstart, a team of bloodhounds and a compass the size of a dinner plate.

I am pointing this out, because it is not my usual practice to leap ten-feet in the air and let out a high-pitched yelp whenever anyone bursts unannounced into my office.

  
Unfortunately, this is precisely what I do when Leo marches in shouting,

"JOSHUA LYMAN! What the hell is this story about a dead rat? And you better have a damn good explanation, or so help me God, I'll have you impeached for wasting the President's time."

For a stunned moment when I'm reeling about, trying to locate my feet on the carpet, I spot CJ and Sam crowding into the room behind the irate Chief of Staff. They are trying to telegraph apology and warning with their hands and eyes but it makes them look like bad mime artists and I have to close my eyes to shut out the sight before I start giggling.

When I open them again, I see that Donna has managed to insinuate herself between Leo and me and is trying not to make it look obvious. She's gone into 'guard and protect' mode and I have to resist the temptation to shout, _'Donna, attack!'_ Instead I say the first thing that pops into my head,

"What rat?"

"Your rat George, who's dead", pipes up Sam with scant regard for grammar.

What is wrong with these people?

"George isn't a rat."

Leo, looking understandably confused rounds on Sam,

"You told me George was a rat!"

Sam rounds on me,

"_YOU_ told me George was a rat!"

"No I didn't."  


Did I?

"Yes, I did, sorry."

"Ah-ha!" cries Sam, vindicated at last.

CJ's started to look a lot frustrated.

"For the love of God, will someone tell me! Is he a rat or not?"

"NO!"

"He's _not_ a rat?" Sam's face has fallen.

I take a deep breath to respond to this, when Donna pipes up in a very calm and clear voice,

"George is not a rat. As far as I know, there never _has_ been a rat named George. George is…or more accurately, _was_, a chinchilla."

"…a chinchilla?"

"…Aww, that's cute."

"…what's a chinchilla?"

Leo's shaking his head. He's beginning to look tired.

"Chinchilla, rat, whatever. What _I_ want to know is why you implied that it was George Faraday that was dead!"

"…Faraday? Like the scientist?"

"…that's _Michael_ Faraday, CJ."

"Will you two shut up! Answer the question, Josh."

I've got my head buried in my hands at this point, because it's been a very long day, and I very badly want this conversation to end.

"I never implied that." I say tiredly, "I just said that I named my chinchilla _after_ George Faraday."

"…what did you do a thing like that for?"

"…he named his chinchilla after a scientist?"

"…will someone please tell me what a chinchilla is?"

That's it. I've officially had enough.

"SHUT UP!"

They shut up. Even Donna backs away from me. I'm using the voice I normally reserve for Senators.

"My name is Joshua Lyman. I had a chinchilla. I named him George. This was obviously a stupid thing to do, and I apologize, but now he's road-kill, so it hardly matters anymore. I have learned my lesson. I will never buy another chinchilla, in fact I may never own another pet again. If I do, I will call it a less confusing name.

"I know you've been worried about me, and I'm touched, but my nerves can't take the strain, and if this subject is ever alluded to again, I won't be responsible for the consequences! So, will everyone please, please, please just go away now?"

They must be able to hear the end-of-my-tether tone in my voice because although there are a few hard glares, and a shuffling of feet, they do indeed go away.

Donnatella Moss, for reasons only known to her, didn't include _herself_ in my request, starts laughing.

"Donna…"

"Oh, Josh, that was masterful, it was truly masterful."

I hate it when she does this.

"I'm so proud of you, the way you stunned them with your rhetoric. _I will never buy another chinchilla_…"

"Donna, shut up…"

"…you should save these little speeches of yours for when you're in the Senate…"

She's standing in front of me now, in full-on torture Josh mode. Her eyes are sparkling.

I wish she'd be quiet.

"…you could start a campaign for mis-named pets. You'd start with Socks the cat, and move on to…"

I so want to shut her up that my thought processes shut off completely and I do something I never dreamed I would be doing when I woke up this morning.

I kiss her.

I am kissing Donna.

__

Wow.

It's not a particularly long kiss, or even a very passionate one but, boy, it's _heady._ It's like that moment in a movie when the violins swoop up to a crescendo and the cameras rush in for a close up. It's like that moment of awe when you see the sunrise from the beach or hear the Verdi _Requiem_ for the first time.

It feels like the first thing I've done right all day.

When my mouth leaves hers, I find myself standing with my fingers entwined in her hair and her hands have a stranglehold on my tie. Donna has her eyes closed and her head is still tilted back as though she hasn't realized that the kissing part is over. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks like a Botticelli, or a flaxen-haired Rossetti. She looks like Dante's Beatrice.

When her lids slowly open, every instinct in my body is telling me to kiss her again, already. But I don't. When you're batting a thousand, you don't try to load the bases.

Instead, my hands release her very slowly and carefully to fall to my sides and her grip on my tie loosens until she's just holding the very end of it. She says,

"Well, that was…surprising."

I can't help it, I laugh.

"Yes, it was"

Donna laughs too and with one of her sudden changes of mood, dances away from me. My assistant is back.

"You have Staff at five o'clock and you're seeing Callahan at six, so don't forget to read the notes I left on your desk."

"Okay."

"Okay."

She walks back to her desk, a definite spring in her step and I think I must have a very silly grin on my face because when she turns slightly at the doorway, I can see that she is smiling.

RIP George. Thanks, buddy.

THE END

   [1]: mailto:madeleinemitchellcarr@hotmail.com



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